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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545436">Sharing Warmth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZigZagSett/pseuds/ZigZagSett'>ZigZagSett</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fix-It, Fluff, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Period-Typical Homophobia, Tormund Gianstbane is a Sweetheart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:14:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZigZagSett/pseuds/ZigZagSett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For now though, he basked in the sight before him. Tormund guarding Jon’s heart, the most cherished piece of home that Jon had brought with him to his new life, with strong arms and kind words.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Jon decided then and there that he would sleep in Tormund’s bed and take Tormund’s warmth for as long as the free man would have him.</em>
</p><p>After the wars are fought and humankind is saved, Jon and Rickon go north to the lands beyond the Wall to help Tormund Giantsbane's tribe start anew. Tormund enthralls both Snow and Stark with cheerful words and loving touches, until they become planets just orbiting Tormund's lively sun.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tormund Giantsbane &amp; Jon Snow &amp; Rickon Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Adore You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Spoiler Warning! If you haven't watched up to the series finale, you've been warned!</p><p>I used a rough combination of some book canon aspects and some show canon aspects-- I also took a couple artistic liberties. Please note that Rickon is roughly his book age (maybe slightly aged up, at 5 years old), and Tormund has no biological children.</p><p>The story begins after the end of the show finale.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lands north of the Wall had begun to recover since Jon last saw them. He supposes a lot can happen in the time since he left the Night’s Watch. Two queens had been slain, the species of dragons made extinct once again, and a new system of governance had been put in place. </p><p>Not that the wildlife here cared much about all that. The forest recovered from a snowstorm colder than ice itself, the heart of winter had blown through and in its wake, life began to put itself back together.</p><p>Birds chirped, soft snow crunched underneath Jon’s boots—a fresh layer had likely fallen over-night. He paused for a moment to inhale, to let the icy air fill his lungs. </p><p>Jon didn’t get more than a moment to breathe before his thoughts were interrupted. Rickon jumped onto his back with a gleeful shout, wrapping his arms around Jon’s neck to secure his hold so that he wouldn’t fall off. Moments like these were what Jon treasured, when Rickon’s giggle was loud in his ear and Jon could hear Tormund—not too far off but closing in fast. </p><p>Only a couple seconds after Rickon had accosted him, he was yanked off Jon’s back and thrown over Tormund’s shoulder. Rickon’s giggles turned louder as Tormund tickled his stomach, making silly growling noises and playfully bitting on the child’s leg.</p><p>“Tormund!” Rickon tried to get out between giggles, slapping at Tormund’s back. </p><p>“Mmm,” Tormund vocalized, as if Rickon’s calf was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten. “Wolf Boy tastes great!”</p><p>Jon allowed himself a few moments to just watch Tormund and Rickon play. Rickon was very energetic today, excited to go beyond the Wall with Jon and Tormund. Well, Rickon was excited to do anything with Tormund.</p><p>It would’ve unnerved Jon to see how much Rickon had taken to Tormund’s presence if it had been anybody else besides Tormund.</p><p>However since it was the lovable oaf himself, Jon could understand. Tormund had a way of creeping up on you, of breaking past the defenses around your heart and building them back up—with himself inside. </p><p>“I think the Little Crow is thinking too much. Don’t you agree, Wolf Boy?” Jon’s thoughts were once again interrupted by Tormund’s deep rumble, filled with mirth and wrapped up in a smirk. </p><p>Jon turned back to see Rickon had conquered Tormund, no longer slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour but now sitting on his shoulders with an air of authority. They had scarily similar grins on their faces, but Jon couldn’t take the proper time to admire that fact because they’d began to approach him.</p><p>He backed up slowly, a grin threatening to break out on his own face. </p><p>“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t!” Jon warned, raising his hands out in front of him as if to create a physical barrier between him and the other two. </p><p>“That’s real rich, coming from somebody who keeps spacing out every couple minutes.” Tormund growls. Rickon’s growling follows, before it’s once again broken up by giggles.</p><p>Jon feels himself soften at Rickon’s imitation of a growl, at how full of life Rickon looked and sounded. It hadn’t always been like this, Rickon had been a child of four during the Battle for Winterfell, having arrived at the scene of fighting near the end, on top of Davos Seaworth’s horse. Rescued from Skagos, Sansa had said.</p><p>At the time, Jon had the guilt-inducing thought that maybe Rickon would be better off on Skagos. Happier, without having to worry about Boltons or Lannisters or the Others. Where his only challenge was daily survival, aided by his ferocious direwolf. </p><p>Rickon survived the Battle for the Dawn in the crypts of Winterfell, with Sansa and the other children. He had stood by Jon’s side and watched the funeral pyres burn.</p><p>He was only five years old at the time.</p><p>Then, Tormund came into their lives. Like a burst of sunlight breaking through the clouds on a rainy day, Tormund brought unadulterated happiness. He told stories that made them howl with laughter, he taught Rickon how to speak some of the Old Tongue, he played with Ghost and Shaggydog. </p><p>Tormund had shown them how to live again, truly. He showed them how to love life. </p><p>As Jon watched man and boy inch closer to him, his heart was so full, it felt near bursting. </p><p>When Jon had been sentenced to take the black for ending the Targaryen line, Tormund had jumped at the opportunity to come north with Jon. To settle his tribe in the lands they felt comfortable in, to be back in their world. Jon volunteered to help Tormund’s tribe settle in “for a period of time” as he told the newly appointed Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.</p><p>Everybody knew he didn’t plan to return. The Night’s Watch had, literally, killed Jon the last time he chose to stay. Jon wouldn’t spend the rest of his life wasting away in that god-forsaken castle. Not when the Others had been vanquished, not when Tormund and Rickon asked him to go. </p><p>Sansa had been opposed to it, at first. She had protested and dug her heels in, trying to keep what little was left of their family together.</p><p>“He’s only a babe, Jon.” Sansa pleaded. “I don’t want to lose him too.”</p><p>Jon had only shaken his head, letting a heavy silence hang over them for several beats.</p><p>“Rickon has become very attached to Tormund,” Jon reasons in response. “And Tormund, in return, has become attached to Rickon. Can’t you see how much he smiles when Tormund’s around? He brings the life out of him, the life that we thought we had lost forever. I don’t want to take that away from Tormund, and I most certainly don’t want to take that away from Rickon.”</p><p>Sansa still looked unsure, wringing her hands anxiously.</p><p>“Tormund is the toughest man I know,” Jon added. “Rickon will be safest at his side, with Shaggydog too.” </p><p>Finally, Sansa gave in. With many repeated promises of returning to visit, Rickon and Tormund had left Winterfell with the tribe that Tormund had belonged to. They stopped at Castle Black, to collect Jon and Ghost, then continued north. </p><p>For a third time in that hour, Jon’s thoughts were interrupted by man and boy pouncing on him. All three went down in the snow, Tormund’s large hands instantly going to Jon’s sides and tickling with vigor while Rickon gleefully cried victory. </p><p>The other members of the tribe watched fondly but didn’t stop walking, continuing their march. They wanted to find a new place to build their home, to begin putting down their roots again.</p><p>Jon, below a mound of a man, an adorably ferocious boy, and two fully-grown direwolves that had decided to dog-pile on, laughed so hard that he wept.</p><p>-</p><p>In the weeks that followed, it was hard work. Hunting, foraging, fishing, building, and more activities all demanded the tribe’s attention. However, slowly but surely, the tribe was eking out an existence.</p><p>Jon’s sore muscles protested as he sat down in Tormund’s, no, <em>their</em> tent. </p><p>There wasn’t much opportunity for debate when the tribe settled down for the first night. Tormund had announced it to those within earshot that Jon and Rickon would be sharing his warmth. Jon scoffed.</p><p>“What if we decide to sleep elsewhere? Who says I want to share my warmth with you?” He’d tested, ignoring Rickon’s sudden pout. Jon didn’t really know anybody else in the tribe on an intimate enough level to sleep in their tent, but he was feeling a tad bit hesitant about accepting Tormund’s hospitality. Maybe because a voice in his head was telling him he didn’t deserve it. Not after what he’d done.</p><p>Now it was Tormund’s turn to scoff, before he got up from where he was nailing the tent’s supports into the ground. </p><p>“Little Crow, I know it’s been a while since you’ve been north of the Wall but it gets awfully cold up here at night. It seems like I’ve got Rickon and the beasts already on board, because they have the sense to realize I run warm, if you don’t want to join us then you’ll be bloody cold.” Tormund finished the conversation with that, and there was no more debate about where Jon and Rickon would sleep.</p><p>It went well. Rickon slept between Jon and Tormund, while a direwolf usually slept on Jon or Tormund’s flank. Unfortunately, the tent wasn’t large enough for a second direwolf. Somehow, in an unnerving display of intelligence, Shaggydog and Ghost seemed to switch off each night—one night sharing warmth with the humans inside the tent, and the next dozing off lazily outside the tent and keeping guard.</p><p>Jon wouldn’t admit it to anybody, but he did feel better knowing that one of the wolves was always watching out for them when they were at their most vulnerable. Even if the tribe did have somebody fulfill nightly guard duty, the supernatural senses and strength of a direwolf were a reassurance that helped him to rest at night.</p><p>Not that rest necessarily meant sleep, Jon had troubles sleeping ever since King’s Landing, ever since he drove the knife into Daenerys and felt her warmth seep onto the ground. Each night he got a few hours, but what little he did get was usually riddled with nightmares and unspeakable horrors. </p><p>Jon wasn’t the only one haunted by the past. Only a few nights into their stay, he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by Rickon.</p><p>Muttering and sweating, Rickon tossed and turned in the furs.</p><p>“No, no, no,” Rickon whispered, anguished. The volume of his words increased as his thrashing became more violent. “No, no, <strong>NO!</strong>” </p><p>The bloodcurdling scream sent Jon into action, wrapping an arm around Rickon and pulling him to his chest, humming sounds of comfort. Rickon seemed to be awake now, silent for a moment before bursting into tears.</p><p>Sob after sob, the boy clung to Jon’s tunic and pressed his face into Jon’s chest. His shoulders shook with the power of his crying, while Jon ran his hand up and down Rickon’s back.</p><p>These were the sobs of a boy who saw too much at too young, who’d been through more than anybody should have to in their whole lifetime—at the age of five.</p><p>“Shh, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Jon repeated these words over and over, shushing Rickon softly and continuing to rub his back. Rickon continued crying, he didn’t seem to be showing signs of stopping, if anything his cries continued to pick up strength. </p><p>Jon kissed the crown of Rickon’s head, squeezing him to his chest while he continued to sob. Soon, Jon felt his own eyes tearing up. Rickon’s pain was his pain. Rickon was his greatest treasure—his whole world now, wrapped up in this hurt and sad child. Jon didn’t pay attention to his own silent tears, his focus was so strongly on Rickon’s sorrow.</p><p>“Rickon, sweetling, what’s wrong?” Jon inquired, after minutes passed of Rickon’s continued weeping. Rickon just shook his head and buried his face impossibly deeper in Jon’s bosom. Shaggydog, who’d been posted outside the tent, stuck his head inside and was watching the scene with an uncanny intelligence. </p><p>“Can I?” A voice came from Jon’s left. He looked over through his teary vision. Tormund was wide awake, hands extended. The red-haired man was looking into his eyes, piercing blue ones filled with compassion and a want, no, a <em>need</em> to comfort.</p><p>Jon hesitated for only a split second, before carefully offering Rickon over the mound of furs that was their bed. Tormund was so gentle as he wrapped his arms around the boy and turned Rickon towards him, his movements so tender, that Jon felt that sensation again, the one he’d felt when they’d crossed the Wall last week.</p><p>His heart was full at the sight in front of him, Tormund leaning down and singing a lullaby. Jon didn’t know the words—it was in the Old Tongue, a language only spoken beyond the Wall in modern times, but he knew the feelings the melody gave. Safety, reliability, comfort. In that moment, it struck Jon why Rickon and him felt so fondly for Tormund, he was their sanctuary. After the world had done so much to chew them up and spit them out, Tormund stood strong in the face of adversity. He still cared for them fiercely.</p><p>Rickon’s bawling finally softened, his anguish seeming to be tempered for the time being. Jon made a mental note to talk to Rickon about his nightmares when the opportunity came along. For now though, he basked in the sight before him. Tormund guarding Jon’s heart, the most cherished piece of home that Jon had brought with him to his new life, with strong arms and kind words. </p><p>Jon decided then and there that he would sleep in Tormund’s bed and take Tormund’s warmth for as long as the free man would have him.</p><p>-</p><p>The days turned into weeks, and soon Jon was building a life in the tribe. He hunted every day with Ghost and a few others, sometimes Tormund, sometimes not. The tribe was careful not to over-hunt. Life was still fragile, growing back after the devastation of the Others. One of the only taboos in the tribe was not to waste. Every animal, every plant, every resource that the humans used, they made sure to use every part of it. </p><p>So, they only hunted just the right amount of meat needed to survive, only cut down the dead and withering trees to build structures with, and lived meagerly. Yet, Jon found himself happier here than he had been in Winterfell and Castle Black.</p><p>He had no duty besides survive, no honor to protect besides that of his loved ones. His watch was over.</p><p>Jon slowly got acquainted with the other members of the tribe through the tasks they all did together. They were hesitant around him at first, not sure if they could trust the former crow. However, slowly, carefully, they opened their lives up to Jon and his own. Children began asking questions about the direwolves, asking Rickon to play. Elders began asking Jon for stories from the South. Adults began inviting Jon to sit by their fire. </p><p>Nobody cared that Jon was a bastard, nobody thought much of a war being fought over Jon’s parents, nobody gave a second thought to Jon deserting the Night’s Watch. He was one of them now.</p><p>He was accepted.</p><p>-</p><p>“I haven’t seen him like this in years, you know.” Ynes told Jon in hushed tones, as if they were sharing a particularly juicy piece of gossip. “Tormund. He’s happy again.” She added, when Jon gave her an inquisitive look.</p><p>Jon didn’t know what to say for a moment, so he said nothing. The pair continued to clean and prepare the fish that Tormund and others had caught for dinner.</p><p>“He makes me happy too,” was all that Jon could give in response. Then, “and Rickon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rickon as happy as when he’s with Tormund.” </p><p>“I don’t think anybody will be able to outdo Tormund, he stole a pretty crow and also got a wolf prince and two direwolves as an added benefit.” Ynes chuckled to herself quietly.</p><p>This gave Jon pause.</p><p>“He didn’t steal me!” He exclaims after the realization hit him, his cheeks turning red. Jon was well aware from his time with the free folk what it meant to ‘steal’ somebody. </p><p>“No?” Ynes hums. “It seems like it to me. You sleep in his furs, you warm his bed, you both even have a pup to raise.”</p><p>Jon’s cheeks felt impossibly warm. From time to time, in moments such as these, it struck Jon how different his culture was from that of the Free Folk. Ynes meant no offense by her assumption, she was even praising Tormund for his good luck. </p><p>If the same thing were discovered in the South, it would have been called unnatural and sinful. Even in the lands of Winterfell, where the new gods held less sway, it would be considered something to be done in discretion and frowned upon.</p><p>Was that what Tormund wanted from Jon? A warm and willing body? Tormund had never made any mention of it besides the occasional joke, but that was just Tormund’s usual self, wasn’t it? Jon was uncertain now, and his silence stretched on. Did <em>Jon</em> want that from Tormund? </p><p>Sure, Jon knew Tormund was attractive. His body was muscled from day-in day-out physical labor, his hair luscious and vibrant, his voice deep and powerful. However, did he want to taste Tormund’s lips on his own? Did he want to feel Tormund in other ways, too?</p><p>Jon’s silence must have been telling, because Ynes carefully put down the knife and fish she had been gutting. She placed a hand covered in fish guts on Jon’s shoulder. </p><p>“Pretty Crow, I’ve known Tormund since he was sucking on the teat. I’ve seen him grow up, alongside my daughter. I’m sorry if I misspoke or offended something of your Southron ways but know that I bear no ill-will.” Ynes spoke warmly, with a small smile on her face. She continued,</p><p>“Tormund just wants you to be happy, I can tell it from the way he looks at you. I don’t know what you did to earn that boy’s loyalty but I advise you to protect him the best you can. You won’t find another soul like him in these lands.” Ynes strengthened her expression and peered into Jon’s eyes, gazing into the very depths of his soul.</p><p>Jon was feeling tested again, in a similar way to how the tribe assessed his intentions when he first arrived. Except, instead of determining whether or not he was worthy of their tribe, this time Ynes was judging whether or not he was worthy of Tormund.</p><p>Jon swallowed anxiously, but he couldn’t seem to dislodge the knot that had grown in his throat.</p><p>“Aye, I swear I’ll protect Tormund.” Jon found himself speaking without filtering the thoughts that came to his mind. “I’ll swear it before the weirwoods if need be. He pulled me back together when I was at my lowest point, and I’ll always be in his debt.” </p><p>Ynes’s eyes crinkled as her face broke into a smile, she was pleased by his answer.</p><p>“Good,” was all she said in response, before picking up her knife and resuming gutting.</p><p>“Good,” Jon echoed, still lost in thought.</p><p>-</p><p>That night, as they were laying down to sleep, Jon’s mind was still repeating words from his conversation with Ynes. Tormund was gone on a trip, him and a couple other men from the tribe had left for the shores of the Shivering Sea to hunt seals. Their blubber, oil, meat, and even bones would all be very important for the upcoming winter.</p><p>Jon had demanded that Tormund take Ghost with him, if only for his own peace of mind. Tormund protested, and some kind of quarrel had developed over it.</p><p>
  <em>“You stubborn oaf,” Jon jabbed a finger into Tormund’s chest. “If I wake up tomorrow and you haven’t taken Ghost with you, I’ll personally follow your trail and deliver Ghost to you myself.”</em>
</p><p>Jon smiled smugly as he reflected back to this morning when he woke up and Ghost was gone.</p><p>This left Shaggydog, the direwolf with fur as black as night who had already plopped down on the pile of furs with a huff that sounded more reminiscent of an elderly man than a direwolf of two years of age. </p><p>Rickon curled into Shaggydog’s flank, seeking his warmth and softness. The child babbled away about his day while Jon shed layers.</p><p>“Valla’s papa showed us an owl’s nest! Owl eggs are so pretty,” Rickon sighed, curling tighter around Shaggydog while Jon settled in on his other side. “Then, Valla’s papa said to us ‘…” </p><p>Rickon then switched to the Old Tongue, something that Jon marveled at. Rickon was taking to the language fast, much more quickly than Jon had. It was as if something in Rickon’s still developing brain absorbed language in the same way that dry soil absorbed water. </p><p>When Jon first discovered how much of the Old Tongue that Rickon had already mastered in the short span of a few months, due to his complete immersion in the environment where it’s spoken (chiefly, his new friends’ families and their tribe), he’d been proud.</p><p>Although, the first time Rickon and Tormund began conversing in the Old Tongue while the trio were lying in bed, Jon felt a twinge of something ugly in the back of his mind. He wanted to be part of their conversations too. So, he asked Tormund to tutor him in it, and Tormund’s reaction was so excited that Jon knew he wouldn’t regret asking. </p><p>In the present, Jon could only pick out maybe one in every ten words that Rickon was saying—his words were too fast and advanced for Jon. </p><p>Jon still grunted at all the appropriate times and played with Rickon’s hair while he listened. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t understand Rickon, it was just important that Rickon felt comfortable speaking in whatever way he did. </p><p>As sleep started to claim Rickon, the Common Tongue mixed in with his Old Tongue. He began speaking a hybrid of the two languages, drawing loan words from each when either failed him. Just before he fell asleep, he murmured. “I miss <em>isä<em>, is he coming back soon?” </em></em></p><p>
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</p><p>Jon froze, <em>did Rickon say<em> isä<em>?<em> Several beats passed in relative silence, where the only sounds in the room were the slumbered breathing of Rickon and Shaggydog. </em></em></em></em></p><p>
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</p><p>Jon was by no means a fluent speaker of the Old Tongue, but <em>isä</em> is one of the more basic words because of how common it is in daily use.</p><p>
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</p><p><em>Isä</em> meant father. </p><p>
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</p><p>Two possibilities immediately sprung into Jon’s mind, and he’s not sure which is worse. Either Rickon was referring to Ned Stark or to Tormund. </p><p>
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</p><p>The more Jon reflected on it, the more he realized how little Rickon spoke of their life before coming north of the Wall. Did he even remember who Ned Stark was? Did he remember who Catelyn Stark was? He’d last seen both of them at the age of three, when his father left to die in the political snakepit of King’s Landing—his mother leaving a bit later to meet a similar death at the Twins.</p><p>
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</p><p>The boy was orphaned by the age of four, and had been living in hiding ever since Theon Greyjoy captured Winterfell. Did he remember much of home now?</p><p>
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</p><p>Would he remember much, ten years from now?</p><p>
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</p><p>Jon made another commitment to himself, then and there, that he wouldn’t allow Rickon to forget his heritage, of the culture that created him. It was important to Jon that Rickon still maintained something from his old life, maybe for selfish reasons, maybe Jon didn’t want to be all alone in the lands north of the Wall with nobody who shared much of his Southron heritage.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jon compartmentalized that topic away for later, grappling with the much more pressing issue which was Rickon referring to Tormund as <em>isä</em>. He supposes that it makes sense, maybe Rickon only associates the word with an older member of the household. Maybe Rickon associates it with Tormund because it’s the closest thing he has to a free folk <em>isä</em>, but what does that make Jon? Just his half-brother? Or his adoptive parent?</p><p>
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</p><p>What does that make him and Tormund?</p><p>
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</p><p>The conversation with Ynes from earlier that day was still fresh in his mind. He was committed to Tormund, that was for sure.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jon sighed to himself. He knew that, deep down, a small part of himself was pleased by how Rickon referred to Tormund. Tormund had so effortlessly installed himself in their lives, and Rickon had already attached a very serious title to him with such a word. Rickon needed Tormund.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jon needed Tormund too.</p><p>
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</p><p>The realization came upon him slowly—but Jon began to understand—in that dark tent, that he did want Tormund that way. He wanted Tormund in every way. He wanted Tormund’s lips, his body, his crude jokes, his fantastical stories, he wanted the way Tormund’s eyes lit up whenever he played with Rickon, he wanted the way Tormund reached an arm across Rickon’s sleeping form to softly touch Jon's shoulder in a display of support whenever the weariness showed on his expression, he wanted to grow old with Tormund, to swap stories and take care of each other as tribal elders.</p><p>
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</p><p>Tormund returned from the hunting trip late the next night, his breath smelling of fermented goat’s milk. Rickon was already asleep, breathing softly into the vulnerable spot below Shaggydog’s neck. Jon was curled up next to Rickon, but he propped himself up when he heard the tent flap open. </p><p>
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</p><p>“How was it?” The whispers slipped out of Jon’s mouth before he could stop himself, the happiness seeping through him as he saw Tormund unharmed and grinning—his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. </p><p>
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</p><p>Tormund slid under the furs, curling around Jon and pulling him back down to bed, an arm wrapping around Jon’s hip to rest on his lower belly. Jon wasn’t used to this kind of intimacy, usually Rickon slept between them, but since Tormund got back after the pair had gone to bed, Rickon was between Shaggydog and Jon.</p><p>
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</p><p>“It was bloody good, I got to see some old friends.” Tormund chuckled to himself, seeming to still be slightly affected by the goat’s milk. His words were a deep rumble in his chest, resonating against Jon’s back from where he cozied up to him. “We traded some of the seals and got the tribe enough supplies to start building a settlement, hopefully we’ll have that complete before winter hits. Imagine, not sleeping in a tent.”</p><p>
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</p><p>This led to another set of quiet guffaws from both of them, while Tormund’s hand traveled up Jon’s abdomen. His touch feathered underneath Jon’s undershirt, coming up to rest on his chest. Jon pretended that his shivers were from his belly being exposed instead of from Tormund’s fingers idly drumming on his skin. </p><p>
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</p><p>“I’m going to build the three of us a house.” Tormund spoke quietly, seriously. “A place to call home.” </p><p>
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</p><p>“Rickon called you <em>isä</em>.” Jon spoke even more quietly than Tormund, barely audible above the tranquil sounds of Rickon’s snoring. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Oh.” Tormund said, seeming uncertain. “Is that… what do you think?”</p><p>
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</p><p>“I think that I should talk to him about the place he comes from, the blood in his veins. I’m glad he’s happy here, but I don’t want him to forget about his old family.” Jon drawls, his hand coming up to caress Tormund’s cheek. Jon felt uncertain of himself, he’d never touched a man like this before. Never touched anybody like this, besides Ygritte. </p><p>
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</p><p>“I’m… I’m glad that Rickon feels that comfortable around you.” Jon finally said, dropping his gaze to Tormund’s lips and then down to his naked chest. “I think I speak for the both of us when I tell you that you bring light to our lives. You make us happy, you care for us, you are so selfless. You put Rickon before yourself, and I adore that about you. Rickon is the most precious person in my life, and you treat him like he’s something fragile, precious to you too.”</p><p>
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</p><p>“You’re precious to me too, Little Crow.” Tormund took this moment to speak up, his large hand coming up to gently tilt Jon’s chin towards him—so that Jon could look into his eyes and see how serious Tormund was being.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Tormund, I…” Jon’s words dropped off. Tormund waited, he always waited for Jon. Ever patient and gentle, even when joking and laughing.</p><p>
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</p><p>“I want you.” Jon felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders just from saying the words.</p><p>
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</p><p>The kiss was so soft that Jon almost didn’t register it. Tormund’s lips feathered over his own, soft and tasting of fermented goat’s milk. </p><p>
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</p><p>Tormund dipped down a second time, kissing longer and more enthusiastically. Jon’s lips felt unsure, he had only kissed a few times in his life and was by no means experienced.</p><p>
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</p><p>Tormund had no problem taking the reins, deepening the kiss as he twisted Jon’s body closer to him. His tongue licked at Jon’s bottom lip, prodding for entry. </p><p>
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</p><p>Jon let it in, and he felt a lick of heat course into his belly when Tormund’s hand continued its moving. First, it reached over to a nipple and grabbed a handful of the flesh around it—eliciting a breathless moan from Jon which Tormund eagerly swallowed. Then, just like that, the hand was gone.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jon was breathless, turning over to look angrily at Tormund as he settled behind him to sleep. Tormund only raised an eyebrow. </p><p>
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</p><p>“What? Did you think we were going to do something here?” Tormund chuckled again, and Jon most certainly did not notice how alluring Tormund’s lips looked, red and glistening in what little light got into the dark tent. “I wouldn’t want to scar the Wolf Boy with those pretty noises you were making.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Jon scoffed, knowing Tormund was right. Still, he felt put out and frustrated. A small pout on his lips, he turned back to face away from Tormund and crossed his arms.</p><p>
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</p><p>At that moment, Jon felt Tormund’s lips kissing the sensitive area behind his ear. Jon squeezed his legs together, trying to will his manhood down. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Besides, when I have my way with you,” Tormund kissed the area again. Jon’s breath caught, and his body wouldn’t stop shivering. “I’m going to take you somewhere quiet and alone where I’ll draw all the pretty noises out of you until your throat is hurtin’.”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Sleep well!” Tormund joked cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just riled Jon up with only a few words.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Fuck you.” Jon could only muster that, his cheeks burning even more than Tormund’s. The redhead laughed, tightening his hold on Jon. </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>UWU kudos and comments are really appreciated! this is my first stab at writing and fanfiction so please let me know your thoughts!</p><p>btw, chapter 1 title is inspired by Adore You by Harry Styles!</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Lands of Always Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yikes. I know in the comments for Chapter 1, I was promising readers that I would have Chapter 2 in "less than week", and here I am posting it 5 months later. I'm still new to writing, and the main thing I learned from this was not to promise any strict deadlines unless I have already finished the piece in question. </p><p>Thank you for your patience and I apologize for how late it is!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the weeks that passed since Jon admitted his feelings to Tormund, nothing much changed. Jon supposed there wasn’t much <i>to</i> change in the first place. They already mimed being a couple in multiple ways; they lived together, they took care of Rickon together, and shared their things between each other. </p><p>Jon supposed he wasn’t being honest with himself. There was one noticeable difference—an air that hung over the two of them. A tension that grew heavier when they were alone, although both Jon and Tormund acted like everything was normal. </p><p>They hadn’t kissed again since that night, but Jon has given fleeting glances to Tormund’s lips and tasted phantom traces of goat’s milk on his own. Jon’s noticed Tormund looking at his lips a few times too, in moments when the red-head must’ve thought he was being sly. </p><p>In regards to that aspect of their relationship, Tormund was an entirely different person from Ygritte. Ygritte crossed boundaries and pushed Jon to grow. Although Jon had originally thought Tormund was another bird of the same feather, now that he’s lived with Tormund he’s realized that the oaf has a gentleness to him.</p><p><i>Tormund is perhaps the most cautious and tender of our group,</i> Jon mused to himself while he crouched in foliage at the end of a clearing. Jon, Ghost, and a spearwife named Vyl had been tracking a scent that Ghost picked up about an hour into their morning hunt. The autumn morning air was cold and crisp, seeping into Jon’s bones with each passing minute. </p><p>Winter would be upon them soon, only eight months after the White Walkers had been defeated. Jon vaguely recalled some anecdote that the new maester of Winterfell had said of seasons having set short time periods of only a handful of months each year, which sounded bizarre and unimaginable at the time. He remembered thinking; <i>how will people be able to survive constantly having to prepare for the change of seasons?</i></p><p>In this moment, however, the idea seemed very real. The days were growing shorter and the temperatures were slowly dropping. Hunting yields were becoming smaller, and the tribal elders had started ordering large portions of their food supplies to be salted and stored away to last the winter. </p><p>The elders had also elected a few key members of the community to be placed in charge of building standing structures to provide shelter and warmth before winter set in fully. Tormund was one of the first members selected, <i>of course</i>, Jon scoffed to himself and then felt a bit guilty. </p><p>It wasn’t Tormund’s fault that he was one of the most well-liked members of the tribe. He had a disarming personality that was trustworthy and kind to those he let in. Jon sometimes selfishly wished he had Tormund privately for Rickon and himself. </p><p>He chastised himself for those thoughts, nobody else in the tribe but Jon and Rickon got to share furs with Tormund. Nobody else had the opportunity of building a life as <i>a family</i> with Tormund. Jon had set his roots firmly in the lands north of the Wall with Giantsbane, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p>Jon was disrupted from his thoughts by the sound of movement in the distance—and the sound was closing in fast. Ghost had taken off in what Jon recognized as a move to encircle the prey and come at them from the opposite direction from where the humans were located.</p><p>The prey should flee right into Jon and Vyl’s clearing, if all went as planned.</p><p>The sound closed in at an alarming rate. Jon gripped his sword with eagerness, rocking on the balls of his feet, muscles taut.</p><p>In an instant, a small family of deer burst into the clearing. Jon recognized the elk immediately by the size of his antlers, but he didn’t have time to identify the rest of the pack. He lunged forward, slashing with all of his strength into the blur of deer and felt his sword connect with the neck of something.</p><p>The deer’s body hit the ground in a pained noise, and Ghost burst into the clearing just in time to provide the killing blow. The rest of the deer’s family had already left the clearing before Ghost had arrived, their pack member left behind in the blink of an eye. </p><p>Jon wondered to himself if they had even realized that they’d just lost a loved one yet. For some odd reason, that caused a pang of sadness to resonate in his chest. He didn’t understand why, he’d hunted countless times since coming north of the Wall. It was a part of the natural order. The free folk hunted just enough to survive, they trimmed animal populations but didn’t deplete them. They didn’t hunt for sport, unlike some nobility that Jon was acquainted with in his old life.</p><p>Vyl entered the clearing while Jon was examining the carcass. It was a fully-grown deer, which Ghost would have to drag back to camp. He looked up to see a goose hanging from Vyl’s belt.</p><p>“When did you land that one?” He nodded to the waterfowl. </p><p>“I figured you and Ghost would have this prey covered and then I spotted a creek about fifty yards east. Every morsel of meat counts, of course.” She patted her trophy with a smug quirk to her lips.</p><p>Jon nodded in approval, sheathing his sword and stepping back to let Ghost grab the deer by the neck. Vyl was perhaps Jon’s favorite person to hunt with. He took to her quickly, and felt comfortable spending hours trudging through the wilderness with her. </p><p>Vyl shared warmth with another spearwife, and they were in the process of raising a couple daughters of their own. Since the unimaginable bloodshed and loss experienced by the free folk in their fight for survival against the Others, there was an upsetting amount of orphans amongst the free folk. Those that didn’t have caretakers ready to claim them as their children were left in Winterfell, to be cared for in the safety and comfort of the castle walls. </p><p>It amazed Jon that Vyl was so casual about her affection for her loved one, the spearwife named Nordel. They would sharing loving touches at the campfire, radiating warmth and happiness in a way that Jon never saw in the arranged marriages of the South. Sometimes, they’d give each other light kisses on the lips and participate in making bawdy jokes. </p><p>Jon still struggled grappling with the fact that he had kissed Tormund once. His feelings were uncharted territory and Jon didn’t know if or how things would change going forward. Jon only knew he was Tormund’s and Tormund’s was his.</p><p>As the trio trudged back to camp, the winds started to rise and the already cloudy sky began to darken. </p><p>“A bad sign,” Vyl muttered, huffing as she sped up her walk. Ghost, soundlessly as ever, matched her pace even with a deer, which weighed several stone, dragging by his side. Jon brought up the rear, flexing his scarred hand anxiously. </p><p>By the time the duo had made it back to the tribe’s settlement, a flurry of snow had begun to fall. Elders gathered, wringing their hands and muttering amongst themselves. This would be the first snowstorm of the season, it seemed. </p><p>Jon caught sight of Tormund’s attention-grabbing hair standing in the doorway of their home. Giantsbane’s brow was knotted together in concern, the tension easing a bit once they made eye contact. </p><p>What Jon was not expecting, however, was for Tormund to engulf him in a hug when he came within arm’s reach. Tormund exhaled and stepped back to examine Jon.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” Jon asked, quirking an eyebrow and returning Tormund’s gaze. Ghost brushed past the two of them to shouldered his way inside, tired and ready for a nap.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Tormund shook his head slightly. “The storm rolled in awfully fast and I just got… anxious. I felt such an unnatural rush of relief to see you okay, even though you’ve survived far worse than some snow. Am I becoming a mother hen?”</p><p>He guffawed after, trying to pass off his discomfort with humor. Jon understood though, it was the first time since they returned to the lands beyond the Wall that Tormund felt like Jon was out of his reach. Unreachable, unable to be helped.</p><p>Jon just chuckled back, hoping to help ease the pressure on Tormund.</p><p>“Aye, I can already hear the clucking.” He put his hand on Tormund’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before they went inside. </p><p>Rickon was asleep in their bed. Jon still had to look twice sometimes when he saw it. After months of sleeping on a mound of furs on the cold, hard ground, it felt weird to sleep on a cot a few inches up from the floor of their home. Weird, but pleasing. </p><p>—</p><p>The snow storm lightened up just as quickly as it appeared, after a mind-numbing week inside their new homes. Jon and Tormund both told Rickon every one of the stories they’d known, but he started to grow bored over time. Shaggydog and Ghost slept increasingly often, meaning his usual partners in mischief weren’t helping him. </p><p>As the days passed by up to the end of the storm, Rickon seemed to be growing increasingly bored with the two of them. </p><p>“When can I see my friends?” Rickon whined, stretching out the word ‘friends’. “I’m tired of hearing about my grandpa’s grandpa’s grandpa’s brother.”</p><p>The three of them were lying under their shared cot's blankets and huddled together to keep warm. Rickon, of course, was in the middle, because Jon’s heart ached just hearing his brother’s teeth chatter. Jon didn’t think he could truly feel warm unless Rickon was warm too. Tormund understood without any words being said, because of course he did. </p><p>“Well, Wolf Boy, seeing as it’s currently impossible to walk out the door because the snow is piled so high, I’d say you’ll have to stick it out.” Tormund answered with mirth laced in his voice.</p><p>Rickon huffed in irritation, saying nothing.</p><p>Jon realized there would be moments like these—not everything in their lives here would be sunshine and flowers. That wasn’t human. It was moments like these, when tempers ran high and all persons present were a little bit on edge from spending six days shut inside together, where Tormund would have to rise to the challenge.</p><p>The redhead hummed, drumming his fingers on his forehead. He said something in the Old Tongue, too fast and not enunciated enough for Jon’s novice ear to catch. Rickon responded in a similar manner. </p><p>After a minute of back and forth exchanges, Jon’s little brother began to laugh and the tension ebbed from the room like a retreating tide. </p><p>—</p><p>Jon and Tormund had elected to do guard duty for half the night, leaving the direwolves to keep Rickon safe and warm. Supposedly, the guards patrolled the settlement grounds and walked separately to keep as much of the settlement under watch at once, but Jon and Tormund preferred to stick together rather than risk dying of frostbite (or boredom, whichever struck first). </p><p>He couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Something about the gender of one of the soon-to-be-born children in the tribe? During a short pause, Tormund turned to face Jon and reached down to plant a kiss on his lips. </p><p>Jon didn’t move for a heartbeat, then returned the kiss. It was only the second time they’d kissed, and it left Jon trembling just as much as the first. The experience was still new and exciting. Tormund pulled away and hummed.</p><p>“I’ve been wanting to do that again for a while, Jon Snow.” Giantsbane spoke, his voice deep and solid. </p><p>“Aye, I’m glad you did.” Jon replied, still feeling a bit woozy. “I don’t have much nerve to do something like that. Especially when others are around.”</p><p>The redhead chuckled and turned to continue walking, wrapping an arm around Jon’s waist and pulling him close.</p><p>“I understand, little crow.” Tormund continued. “There’s no hurry. Take the time you want, and if you don’t want to be putting on a show for others then I won’t either.”</p><p>And that was all there was to be said between each other about the public displays of their affection. </p><p>Everything was so simple and easy with Tormund, Jon reflected. There was no big climax to their romance, no struggle or great battle to overcome. He figured that the both of them had already been through enough struggles in their lives by now, they found contentedness in each other. The kind of fulfillment that comes with taking care of a small human like Rickon, with waking up to each other each morning and being grateful for small moments of satisfaction. </p><p>Jon Snow understood that his life wasn’t easy; from birth up to the moment he drove his blade into Daenerys’s fragile heart, he’s always felt like his own safety and happiness wasn’t important. The end of the world was always on the horizon, pushing Jon to run himself into the ground for the sake of survival.</p><p>But now, in the present time and place, Jon’s managed to carve out a place for himself. North of the Wall, where his only allegiance is to his tribe and taking care of his needs and the needs of his loved ones. </p><p>He flexed his scarred hand before taking Tormund’s hand in his own, rubbing his gloved thumb over Tormund’s own glove, then exhaling a small sigh of contentment. </p><p>Life wasn’t perfect, nor was Jon instantly ‘happy’ but he would be content like this: with the man he <i>loves</i>, raising his little brother and building life anew in the Lands of Always Winter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was the first fanfic I ever started writing back in August, and I will forever be grateful to Jonmund for making this memory. I know this chapter is a bit less focused on the romance, but I feel as though the romantic aspect of their relationship was pretty well developed in Chapter 1. Instead, I wanted to focus more on Jon finding resolution and overcoming the inner sadness that we see him so often struggle with in GRRM's work and in Game of Thrones.</p><p>I hope to be able to come back to Jonmund again some day! Maybe sooner than expected, if inspiration strikes me.</p><p>Please do leave comments, I loved your comments on Chapter 1 and re-reading them was what gave me the emotions necessary to finish writing this story. And feel free to interact with me on <a href="https://twitter.com/ZigZagZett">twitter</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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